Poems

Resolution

There’s the thing I shouldn’t doand yet, and now I havethe rest of the day tomake up for, notundo, that can’t be donebut next time,think more calmly,breathe, say here’s a newmorning, morning,morning,(though why would thatwork, it isn’t evenhidden, hear it in there,more, more,more?)

About This Poem

“The way whole words and sounds nest in other words and sounds kept the surprises coming. By just recognizing kinned sounds, the poem spoke itself into being in a way that felt independent of my making.”—Lia Purpura

More by Lia Purpura

It’s that, when I’m gone,(and right off this is tricky)I won’t be worriedabout being gone.I won’t be hereto miss anything.I want now, sure,all I’ve been gatheringsince I was born,but laterwhen I no longer have it,(which might bea state everlasting, who knows?)this moment right now(stand closer, love,you can’t be too close),is not a thing I’ll know to miss.I doubt I’ll miss it.I can’t get over this.

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Nothing is more important to the antwhose exoskeleton has been breachedby mushroom spores that are nowcontrolling his nervous systemand compelling him to climb to a high leafonly to die and release the sporesover the whole forestthan this poem about his sad plight.

Otherwise his life is meaningless.Forage. Chew. Recognize by scent.Abdication of the will. A huge windthat comes and sweeps his fellowsoff the grass. When he dies up therein the treetops the mushroom growsright out of his head and breaks openlightly dusting the afternoon.

Everything he thought he was hereon Earth to do has been left undone.Through the treesthe spores move on their sinister ways.I put down the science magazine writtenfor elementary school kidsin which I have briefly disappeared.